BATTLEAXE.

There are the rusting remains of
boot scrapers by the back door
I suggest you use them
even in these times of
cleanliness, asphalt pavement
everywhere

You people see dirt now
and cringe
quickly wash your hands,
smooth out your clothing
with your palms
stay tidy
even so, you are all so dirty
and what do you know
about the neatness of clothing?

You saddling up to me
everyday, a key in hand
in those jeans and sneakers
I existed in a time
of hoopskirts, ruffled garments
empire waists, puffed out
sleeves with brass hooks and eyes

I can see these little outfits now
the skirts plumping out
over chairs, positioning their
toy bodies in front of
the marble fireplace,
the one that you keep your
little sand dollars on in
vases, the one that made you
choose me in the first place.

I know you love me.
I know you find me fetching
despite my ragged aging
and so I take care of you
do I not?
I watch over you as you
sleep, I see you coming down
the street and I make sure nothing
hides in the bushes, lurking
besides birds
and I keep the squirrels happy
with roofing holes
because I know how much you
like them

And you'll notice there
have been no fires, no floods,
no burglars
because I made it so.
You, I'll watch out for
because I like the infatuation
in your eyes
and your youthful pride in me,
this old battleaxe.

But remember:
the battleaxe is a weapon
and a woman
And like a mother willing
to lose herself for her brood
I will do what it takes
whatever disasters I can incur
to protect you,
my sneaker-wearing darling
with the sand dollars
on the shelf.